


You Can't Take The Sky From Me

by obeythesithqueen



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Barry is basically River, F/M, Firefly AU, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Insanity, Iris West Is An Awesome Sister, Medical Experimentation, i don't know yet, maybe coldflash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 03:52:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5812804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obeythesithqueen/pseuds/obeythesithqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After attending a government-sponsored conference for a few weeks, Barry goes missing. Iris searches nonstop to find her adorkable brother until over a year later, she finally finds him. In order to sneak him out of the city, she needs the help of Captain Cold and his Rogues Gallery. Somehow she and Barry end up travelling with them while hiding from the very people who took Barry in the first place. Firefly Au.</p><p>It's better than it sounds, I promise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You are now leaving Central City

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So I saw this Au idea on tumblr and decided to give it a shot, though instead of taking plce in the firefly universe, I kept my story in the Flash universe with elements of firefly. I might have make this a coldflash fic, I don't know yet. I would have to find a way to make it work given how Barry is basically River. I'm going to follow the plot line of a few firefly episodes, like the pilot, but then that's it, because I hate stories that just rehash canon.

Raindrops slowly dripped onto the pavement from the roof of the bar. The rainstorm had only lasted twenty minutes, but it came down pretty hard, thoroughly soaking any poor passersby unlucky enough to get caught outdoors. The neon sign in the window of the bar reflected onto the puddles on the sidewalk, mixing silvery black with bright red. The bar was on the shadier side of town, the type of place open all night with a very specific sort of clientele. Clientele that did not normally include modelesque beauties like the the woman standing in the alley way across from the pub.

Iris wrung her hands anxiously. This was a horribly dreadful idea. There was a very small chance that this would actually work, but she had no other options. She’d been riding on prayers and blind luck ever since this rescue mission began.

She reached out to the pod, running her hand over it back and forth; the movement had become a habit over the past three days, reminding her that everything would be okay, that he was really there. She had everything she needed. The pod itself was long and sleek, like a casket. She shuddered. No, not a casket. He was fine. After she got out of Central he’d wake up just like they said, safe and sound. She stroked the pod, running her fingers along the edges in a comforting and familiar gesture. Everything would be fine. Once she got out of Central. Though the how caused her hand to pause in her ministrations. Her means of escape rested on the shoulders of the less than savory Rogue. If he recognized her, everything would fall apart. The criminal could refuse to help, or worse turn her and him in--Iris refused to acknowledge the irony of a cop's daughter on the run from the authorities. All her sacrifices….No. it would work. She had more than enough money saved up to get her across town with no questions asked. She closed her eyes and prayed her luck didn't finally run out.

Iris checked the time on her wrist. 9:43. She had two minutes until the Rogues arrived. Pulling herself together, she pushed the pod deeper into the alley way behind the dumpster. It was out of sight from the mouth of the alley, but was close enough to keep her from panicking. Her hands were drawn to her pants, patting down her pockets for the fourth time that hour to make sure everything was still there. Payment for transportation? Check. Burner phone? Yep. Bribes to the Rogues? Of course. Fake IDs? In her bag with the passports, food, credit cards, and other essentials. She was being ridiculous. Everything was fine. She shook herself, trying to suppress her frayed nerves and anxiety. Breathe, Iris. You can do this.

The roaring sound of motorcycles pierced the quiet atmosphere like a shattering scream in the middle of the night. Iris squared her shoulders. Time's up. Two motorcycles, one with a sidecar, and a dark van pulled into the mouth of the alley. Simultaneously, each member of the group dismounted their vehicles looking more intimidating than the last. She recognized the each of them. Mark Mardon. Hartley Rathaway. Mick Rory aka Heat Wave. LaShawna Baez. Lisa Snart. And of course, Leonard Snart aka Captain Cold, the leader of the Rogues Gallery. Snart wore his signature parka, his notorious cold gun strapped on his thigh as an obvious threat to all who would even think of crossing him or his crew.

“Well, well. This was unexpected,” Cold smirked, tipping his head sarcastically. “To what do we owe the pleasure, Miss West?”

Damn it. Iris clenched her jaw. Damn it! Damn it all! She breathed through her nose and met Cold’s hard stare unflinchingly.

Mardon’s glare hardened into something predatory. Ever since he found out that her father killed his brother, he had a vendetta against anyone close to the Wests. Given her current company and Mardon’s abilities, Iris doubted that he would let the opportunity to hurt her father through her slip past.

As if sensing the unspoken dilemma, Baez placed her hand on Mardon’s shoulder, and he immediately calmed down. Interesting. Iris filed that tidbit of information away for later use, well, assuming she survived tonight's encounter and ever saw any of these criminals again.

She tore her gaze off of the meta and back to Cold. She had to focus, had to be convincing enough for his help. She forced all of her confidence into her voice, banishing all nerves and worries from her mind. Focus.

“I have a job for you.” Dead silence followed her words coupled with varying versions of shock across each Rogue’s face. A beat passed, and the spell was broken by loud peals of laughter from the felons. Mainly Heat Wave, who was doubled over laughing, almost falling over.

A chuckle escaped Cold, bringing her focus back on him. Right, she had to keep her eye on the goal at hand. Play nice with the Rogues, then disappear forever. “And why would the daughter of Central’s finest require the assistance of the likes of us, pray tell?” His seemingly permanent smirk softened into something less smug and more genuinely amused. He tilted his head slightly and raised an eyebrow in curiosity. Good. Curiosity was good.

“It doesn't matter why. All that matters is I can pay my fare,” Iris dismissed, placing her hands on her hips in a hopefully authoritative pose. If anything, it made Heat Wave laugh louder. Hell, even Mardon cracked a smirk. She was about as imposing as a kitten tangled in a ball of yarn.

Cold barked out a laugh, crossing his arms over his chest and stepping closer into her space. “Well anything that sends a badge’s kid asking for my help certainly does matter to me.” Despite his obvious interest, Cold let it slide for now, figuring that the job itself would clue him in. “What’s the payment?”

Iris pulled the manila folder out of the knapsack slung over her shoulder. Cold took it from her outstretched hand and began skimming through the files. “Inside the file are several documents pertaining to new security measures put in place to compensate for meta human offenders and new defense measures developed by the meta human task force. This includes blueprints to locations with extremely valuable items, schematics for defense weapons, and new strategies outlining police involvement in such cases. These pages will give you all you need to continue your heists with no resistance.”

Cold looked visibly impressed, though hid it well. Iris knew that the documents would be more than enough to get her out of here, however selling out the CCPD made her stomach churn. She betrayed her father, took advantage of his career to engage in criminal proceedings. He would surely hate her know, and as much as that hurt, she would do it again. For him.

Cold looked completely fascinated by Iris. He openly stared at her with a concentrated stare, like she was a thousand piece puzzle, and he was trying to see the bigger picture. Then he turned and casually circled her. “You make a very compelling case, Miss West. However, because of the Flash’s unexplained disappearance, why would we need this? This task force isn't anything we can't handle.”

Iris bit her lip as each of the Rogues looked on with interest. The Flash’s disappearance over a year ago came as a shock to everyone. Only a few people knew the reason behind it, Iris being one of them. After the first month, crime rates rose exponentially to the point where government agents were called into the scene. Now, crime has levelled out a bit, however no one was quite as equipped at fighting metahumans as the Flash was.

She closed her eyes and sighed. The guilt of what she was about to say would was a lead ball in her gut. A sour taste filled her mouth as she spat, “Because, the task force found a way to temporarily suppress a meta’s powers. They've upped their game. It's about time you upped yours.” The words tasted vile on her tongue, the most bitter of poisons. She wanted to gag at how easily she betrayed not just her father, but the entire city. But it was necessary. It had to be. For him. “So are you in? Or are you just another waste of my time?”

Cold smirked, equally intrigued and smug. He surely had nothing to lose. “What's the job?” Iris breathed out a sigh in relief. Yes. Finally. Now to business.

“Simple transport. I need you to get me and my cargo out of Central to Coast City harbor as soon as possible. Now would be preferable.”

Cold raised an eyebrow. “And this cargo?” Iris nodded her head towards the inside of the alley. “If you don't mind...,” she left the end of the sentence to hang as she brought the pod out to the mouth of the alley. Rathaway’s never left the pod, his eyes glued to the device in obvious interest. He looked calculating, mentally taking the pod apart, trying to figure out its purpose. In fact, all of the Rogues looked intrigued by the pod, even Heat Wave.

Eyes piercing, Cold simply hummed then turned in heel. “You heard the woman. Looks like we've got a job. Help her load the….cargo into the van. I want to be out of Central by 10.” And just like that, the Rogues got to work. Heat Wave and Mardon helped lift the pod into the van while Baez and Rathaway cleared the back of the vehicle. With a hand from Baez, Iris sat in the back seat of the van next to the pod, checking the futuristic looking meters for any changes. Then they were off.

* * *

* * *

They were nearing Keystone when her luck ran out. When the Flash disappeared, the military became a much larger presence in both Central City and its neighbors, going as far as establishing checkpoints at the city limits. Iris began to sweat as Cold began to slow down on his bike at the front of the caravan.

“What are you doing?!” she nearly shrieked. She couldn't keep the distress out of her voice. If they stopped….No! She had come too far!

Over the comms, Cold responded, “Standard checkpoint search. Your cargo is hidden, so we have nothing to sweat. We pass here then straight to Coast with no stops.” Calm as ever. How could he be so calm when everything was at stake?

“Don't stop. Run.” Her anxiety was building as they got closer. They were almost a quarter of mile from the checkpoint.

“You don't make the orders ‘round here, kid,” Cold scoffed, still slowing down. Iris’s breath quicked becoming more shaky with each foot they decelerated. Baez and Rathaway glanced at her warily, but she didn't care.

“Listen, ‘Captain’. If you stop at that checkpoint, you will all be arrested for aiding and abetting and accessory. In addition to being court-martialed, you will be thrown in Fort Leavenworth military prison, where I guarantee you will rot. So do not stop!”

Iris was met with silence, until Cold grunted and made the call. “Keep going. We're running.” Iris slumped over in relief, her hand slipping under the partition hiding the pod to smoothe her fingers over the sleek metal. She did it. A small smile graced her face minutely before the realities of her situation sunk in. Right, focus.

The caravan sped up, Cold and Heat Wave each breaking through the wooden gateways that blocked the road easily. They were home free.

After a good half hour of driving, Lisa’s voice broke the tense silence over the comms. “I wanna know what's going on.”

“Me too,” Cold said. “Everyone pull over.” Ice flooded Iris’s veins. She had come too far. She curled protectively over the partition covering the pod, using her body as a shield. “What? No!” she cried out as the van pulled to the side of the road and Heat Wave pulled the back doors open. She struggled fiercely but was quickly overpowered by Mardon, one arm around her waist and the other clamping her arms together.

Rathaway was tampering with the gauges on the pod when Lisa and Cold walked over. “No! Don't touch that!” she shouted. He wasn't supposed to….it was too early!

Mardon tightened his hold on her, probably leaving bruises on his wrists. “Quiet,” he hissed in her ear. Rathaway looked over at Cold with a questioning gaze. Cold spared Iris a glance as she fought against Mardon, then looked back to Rathaway. “Open it.”

“No!” Smoke poured out of the pod as the lid popped open. Inside was a man-practically a boy if judging solely by looks. He was pale with a scattered array of freckles and brown hair. He lay on his side unconscious and completely nude. Cold stared at the man, then at Iris, then back at the man. “Huh.” His eyebrows were furrowed in confusion.

Iris strained against Mardon as his hold loosened in shock. He snapped his gaze from the pod back to her, his expression a mix of confused shock and anger. “I need to see him. He's not supposed to wake up for another two days,” she pleaded, her struggles becoming more erratic and desperate. “Please. The shock-”

“Of what? Waking up?” Baez cut in with rage in her eyes, the other Rogues staying silent. “Realizing you've been sold to some self-entitled asshole? This is sick! You can't just--”

Suddenly, he screamed, cutting off Baez mid-rant. He squirmed out of the pod, falling onto the ground as he looked around in fear, his long awkward limbs wrapping around his thin--too thin--frame. He was panting, eyes wildly scanning the room as scared whimpers left his mouth.

Iris broke free of Mardon’s hold in his shock and slowly moved towards him, arms stretched out front in a placating and non threatening gesture. “Barry,” she spoke softly, reaching out slowly to hold his shoulders, however the sound of her voice caused him to flinch and cry out louder. “It's okay! It's okay! We're safe now.” She searched his eyes for any spark of recognition. “We're safe.”

“I-Iris?” Barry whispered. “Iris! They talked to me and they tried to make me--” His voice was thick and shaky, eyes full of tears as he babbled. He was scared. He was so scared, and Iris didn't know what to do. She didn't know what to do and that frightened her. She didn't know what they did to him, what hell they put him through. She hugged him tight, attempting to banish his fears despite the fact that her eyes were just as wet as his, tears freely flowing down her cheeks. She had to be strong for him. “It's okay, they're gone now! I promise we're safe!”

Barry hesitated for a moment, then buried his face in her shoulder, allowing Iris to hold him while his shoulders shook uncontrollably. She rubbed her hand along his spine like she used to when they were kids, and he had nightmares of the man in the lightning. She shushed him as he sobbed, holding him close for the first time in over a year. Closing her eyes, she let the lines of tension dissolve from her shoulders.

“What the hell is this?” Cold asked quietly, as if to try and preserve the sanctity of her reunion. She glanced up at the villain, her eyes wet, but sharp and piercing. “This is my brother.”


	2. Shift and Adjust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry is not okay. Iris is still struggling to realize that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry about the late-ish update. I was going to leave it at just Iris' POV, but I decided it would be better to add Barry's as well. Barry's POV is very abstract. I wrote it in a sort of stream of consciousness at on point just to kinda show you the effects the conference had on his mental state in a more direct way. If Barry seems a bit OOC, well, he was medically tortured and experimented on, so he's allowed to be a bit overly emotinoal and erratic-at least, that's how I see it. 
> 
> If you have any comments or questions, feel free to leave a review or contact me. My tumblr is supremeoverlordofthegeeks.tumblr.com/

All things considered, Bary was doing really good. Well, maybe ‘really good’ is a bit of an overstatement, especially with Barry screaming his head off in the other room, but that had become somewhat routine. Better would probably be a better description. All things considered, Barry was doing better than Iris thought he would. Still, some days she just needed to take a step back and breathe. Yes, Barry isn’t...well, but he is here. He is safe. She did it.

Iris closed her eyes and dropped her head back against the wall, blocking out the panicked and frustrated yells from the next room. Why was this so hard? She had him back; she should be happy. He was alive. Why wasn’t she happy? Iris ran her hands through her hair, a habit Barry used to do when he was stressed. Her hands shook in their movement. Barry was safe. Inhale. That was all she could ask for. She shouldn't have expected him to be exactly the same person he was before. Before that conference, before he went missing, before everything. But it hurt so much to see her happy, lovable brother like _this_. Sometimes he would act like the Barry she remembered, but most of the time, it was...it was like he wasn’t really there--like his mind was thousands of miles away, beyond the fog of confusion and fear that seemed to swathe him.

Every night, he woke up screaming in tears, refusing to tell her anything. He would push past her, murmuring disjointed phrases and metaphors that she couldn’t make sense of. Sometimes, he would just look at her, stare for minutes straight unblinkingly, with a blank expression, as if he didn’t recognize her then break off into a rant about some discrepancy in the body politic. And though she wanted to break down and cry--cry for the pain Barry went through, for the brother that never escaped that conference--, she carefully took hold of his shaking hands and calmed him down, shushing his sobs and holding him close. She had to be strong for him, in order to piece him back together one broken shard at a time. Exhale.

She pushed off the wall, and walked towards the med room. It wasn’t an official infirmary or anything. Just an large walk-in closet stocked with first aid kits and any other medical supplies the Rogues could get their hands on. Despite the utter lack of sanitation and sterilization, it was actually better this way. Barry freaked out in any medical type situation, so being treated in a closet actual helped soothe his nerves, especially when Bae--no, Shawna wanted to test a new drug on Barry. Ever since Iris told the Rogues what happened to Barry, Shawna had done everything she could to help Barry. Even after she told them he was the Flash.

Shawna was actually really good at dealing with Barry when he went into one of his fits. She wasn’t a pushover by any means, but she was understanding and patient, which was helpful when Barry started throwing things. Out of all the Rogues, Barry got along best with Shawna. He was more cognizant in her company, the cloud of confusion that made Iris wonder what he actually saw lifting, if only temporarily.

Hartley was pleasant enough, that is, when he wasn’t a pompous asshole. Iris couldn’t stand the guy, but he treated Barry alright so she dealt with it. Plus, it was amusing as hell when Barry randomly spouted some super scientific jargon that threw the genius for a loop. The first time something like that happened, Hartley’s eyes practically popped out of their sockets. For the next hour, the genius drilled Barry with thousands of questions, to which Barry answered excitedly. Needless to say, Iris tolerated Hartley’s presence with a bit less contempt, if only because he was able to brighten that light in her brother’s eyes that had been dim for far too long.

Barry was indifferent to Lisa’s presence, neither liking or disliking her company. There was something about her that was dangerous--a predatory glint in her eyes that made Barry a bit wary of her, which Iris was totally fine with. She would prefer that Barry not get too close to the dangerous super criminals. Lisa had this analytical air about her that reminded Iris of the other Snart, always looking for weaknesses and advantages in their surroundings. It set her a bit on edge to be honest. Not that she wasn’t wary around all of the Rogues--they were all dangerous villains--, but something about Lisa, just rubbed her the wrong way--not that she’d say anything about it. Lisa was Snart’s sister, and Iris could not afford to piss off the man currently offering her and her brother refuge. She’d stay quiet, but she would never let down her guard.

Heat--Rory was….questionable. During their first week with the Rogues, his presence made Barry nervous and unsettled, mostly resulting in Rory leaving and Barry mumbling crazy gibberish. However, after Barry had a particularly bad nightmare, they both reached a quiet understanding of each other to which no one could comprehend.

On that aforementioned night, Barry freaked out, screaming in his sleep, and set his mattress on fire, locking the door behind him. Iris was two seconds away from ripping the door off its hinges in worry, when Rory sauntered over, awakened by the smell of burning furniture, knocked on the door, and was let in the room no questions asked. From the looks on the other Rogues’ faces, it was just as shocking to them as it was to Iris. Five minutes later, the door swung open, revealing Barry and Rory sitting on the floor, Barry leaning his head on Rory’s shoulder as both watched the burning embers of what used to be a bedframe. After that incident to which Barry was forbidden from flammable substances--along with Rory for that matter--, Barry would seek out Rory’s presence on occasion, sitting next to the pyromaniac in silence. Iris didn’t know what to make of their odd relationship, but refrained from saying anything due to the sole fact that Barry looked content instead of paranoid in those few occurrences.

Mardon hardly interacted with her or Barry, opting to lean against the wall and glare at both of them. Iris guessed he was still angry at the Flash for imprisoning him and her for being her father’s daughter, though she was curious to why Mardon hadn’t attacked or threatened either of them yet. Probably had something to do with Snart. Ruling his Rogues with absolute authority, Snart stood by his code: no killing--at least if you can help it--and no hurting innocent bystanders. Anything beyond that was fair game.

Surprisingly, Barry was almost as comfortable in Snart’s company as he was in Shawna’s, which was weird seeing how Snart barely ever spoke to him directly. Snart never spoke down to Barry as if he couldn’t understand what was going on. If anything, he seemed to expect Barry to understand, to immediately grasp his meaning like he was the same exact person who used to foil his heists. He didn’t change how he acted around Barry from how he’d act around everyone else, and for that, Iris would forever be grateful. It gave a chance for Barry to feel normal. To not feel like a science experiment gone wrong or a broken toy thrown away because it wasn’t as shiny and new as it was before. Snart would snark and make stupid puns with the expectation that they’d be received, which they were for the most part. Barry would laugh or smile or joke right back, and for a few perfect minutes, it would be like nothing ever changed. Like he was the same Barry who ran around helping people just because he could. Then the moment would end and he would retreat back into himself.

Iris shook her head and turned around the corner, entering the med room. Barry was on the floor shoved into the corner of the closet, arms and legs braced out in front of him in a feeble attempt to ward off the ever so frightening Dr. Peek-a-Boo holding a small syringe.

“Barry,” she coaxed gently. “C’mon, you need to take your medicine to get better. It won’t hurt, I promise.” Shawna spared Iris a quick side-glance, but for the most part kept all of her focus on Barry.

Iris took that as her cue to intervene. Crouching down to Barry’s level, Iris slowly crawled over to Barry, careful not to move too quickly or talk too loudly.

“Easy Bear. It’s okay. Shawna just wants to give you something to help you.” She reached out for his arms, but Barry withdrew his arms, hugging himself tightly instead.

“NO! I don’t want that--your poison! It hurts! It hurts and it won’t stop!! I--Irey I wanna go home! I don’t wanna be here!” Iris’s heart clenched at the utterly hopeless and distraught look Barry gave her. She couldn’t imagine the pain he went through--and still is going through. She wanted nothing more than to hug him and give him what he wanted, but she couldn’t. She promised to keep him safe, and if that meant he was unhappy, then so be it. Right now she needed him to be okay.

Iris placed her hand on his arm slowly, proud of herself that Barry only slightly flinched. “We can’t go home, Barry. You know that. C’mon it’s just a little shot. You can ever hold my hand while Shawna does it,” Iris joked, trying to inject some humor into the situation. If she went by the glare Barry shot her, Iris would say she was successful, flashing Barry a teasing grin.

Barry looked down, the glare slipping into something more raw and scared. “I don’t want to do it. It...they…” he broke off looking up, eyes wet and lost. Iris squeezed his arms reassuringly, hoping the tactile support would take his mind off the painful memories no doubt replaying in his mind. She risked it and pulled him closer, wrapping her arms around his thin--too thin--frame, eyes just as wet as his. How could someone hurt the man who used to laugh and smile so brightly to the point where he flinched back in fear at any sudden movement? She sniffed laying her head on his shirt as he slowly hugged her back. After a moment’s hesitation, he melted into the embrace, burying his face in her neck and letting out a sob. They stayed in that position for a long time, Iris hushing Barry’s louder wails while Shawna left the room to give them privacy.

It was one of those rare moments where Barry was completely relaxed, his guard down and expressions unguarded. She really didn’t want to ruin this moment where Barry seemed more like himself from before and less like the traumatized shell of person she was left with. Rubbing her hand in small circles on his back, she let herself savor the moment for a bit more before pulling back, still holding onto his forearms, to look him in the eyes.

“Barry, I know this is hard, believe me, I understand.” Her voice started to crack towards the ends, but she soldiered on. “There’s nothing I would want more than for the both of us to go back home, but we can’t. They’ll take you away again. We have to stay hidden to stay safe, okay?”

Barry met her gaze, his eyes still wet and full of emotion. Iris fought the need to reach out and embrace him again as his face crumpled again, and he whispered with a broken voice, “I’m sorry. You gave up so much to find me. And you found me broken.”

And his words cut through Iris like swords. As much as she tried to help him, piece him back together one broken, jagged edge at a time, she knew she couldn’t fix everything. That those people who took him did things--damaged him in ways that couldn’t be remedied. And what killed her was that Barry knew it. In his moments of clarity, he knew that he wasn’t that same, would probably never be the same again, and he couldn’t do anything about it except watch the pain his condition inflicted on his foster sister. He knew how much it hurt her when he woke up screaming and crying in the middle of the night nine times out of ten, when he said things that made no sense, when he flinched away from her.

She didn’t know how to respond besides holding him close and praying that they’d be okay.

* * *

 

The sheets were scratchy. Every night he tried to sleep, but those damned sheets just kept itching and scratching at him. No sleep. Nope. None. Barry couldn't sleep a wink. Not when _before_ kept creeping into _now_ every time he closed his eyes.

Barry missed running. Not the physical aspect but the feeling it gave him. The connection he felt to the very air each time he tapped into that mysterious force. The speed force. He could always feel it, waiting in anticipation for him to reach out, but when he ran, he could touch it, embrace it. It would fill his veins, concentrating in his femorals and iliacs, warm and tender--light caresses along his entire musculature.

Running….always running….never stop. No breaks, no ends, no cessations. Run run run runrunrunrunrun. No more. Always moving, always pain. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. _You’re progressing so well._ No, not progressing. Regressing, digressing, running backwards. Stop. Cutting deeper and deeper--too deep. Stop. Keep on cutting and cutting and cutting. Stop, it hurts. Again and again, won’t stop. Can’t stop, _we’re doing such good work._ Please stop. _Can’t you see how much good we’re doing? Don’t struggle, you’ll only make it worse._ Stop, please. _Look at this. Look at what you can do._ Look at what we made you do. No. Please. Stop. _Can’t let you go. You’re too valuable._ Success. Broken. Failure. Progress. Silence...

Those sheets…cursed sheets. Their fault.

Barry climbed out of bed, glaring at the sheets as he stalked out of the room. The silence was too loud, too distracting. He needed some air. He walked down the hall, trying to clear his head of that buzzing noise. He concentrated on the building--the design, the style-- in an attempt to ward off a splitting headache, the kind that felt like his brain was swelling against his meninges, bursting capillaries and soft tissues until he was drowning, choking on the thick metallic taste of phantom blood and burning memories.

No. Focus. The safe house he was currently residing in was fairly large. Tradition bi level style, two floor split. Spacious interior with a falsely modest exterior to fit with the architectural designs of the neighboring houses. This house was full of secrets and lies, hidden under rosewood floorboards. Barry treaded lightly as he crept down the hall, careful not to wake anyone else. Irritating his current company would be less than optimal, leaving him and Irey on the streets, all her sacrifices for nought. He ran his hand along the wall as he walked towards the back room. Shell White SW 8917. Satin finish. It was smooth yet rough underneath his fingertips, anchoring his mind to _now_. _Before_ the walls we're shiny, smooth, metallic. The rough drywall confirmed that this was real. It was there.

He stepped out the back door, sliding it closed behind him, into the rain. His bare toes sunk into the muddy grass, the feeling both relaxing and slightly uncomfortable. Breaking out into a smile, Barry supersped to the center of the yard before dropping down, using his velocity to slide into a particularly large and muddy puddle. He threw his head back in laughter as he laid on the grass, thoroughly soaking his pajamas. This was simple. No tests, no needles, no pain. He curled his finger around a vibrant green blade of grass, examining it carefully before ripping it from the ground, severing the stem. Simple….

He threw his head back with a content sigh, raindrops sliding down his face like tears. He missed this--the dirt, the grass, the rain, the _sky_. It had been so long since he had the freedom to do something as simple as watch a rainstorm that it felt brand new--like this was the first time he'd ever seen the sky. In a way that was true. The sky was different now. Or rather he saw the sky differently now. It was no longer struck him with a picturesque sense of wonder but an understanding of sorts. It was too much. He knew its properties and the theorems that dictated its state--what made it incredibly blue or vibrant red, the elements that were abundant, each layer of the atmosphere….He could see patterns that weren't visible, colors he couldn't name. It was too much. Salty tears mixed with rainwater, trailing swirling patterns down his cheeks. Even when he was free, they could still hurt him. They still had the power to take everything from him. Even the sky! Barry picked his head up. No. Not the sky. It's still the same--clouds, colors, constellations, and all. They couldn't take the sky. He wouldn’t let them. They could hurt him beyond repair, exhaust him of every last possession, but the sky would remain.


End file.
